


A Game of Chess

by RosesToPaint



Series: Guilty Pleasure Writing Challenge [3]
Category: Harry Potter - Fandom, Naruto
Genre: Adventure, Crossover, Hp/naruto crossover, Humor, Kakashi being Kakashi, More characters to come, Other, sort of outsider pov
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-25
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-04-28 03:40:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5076400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosesToPaint/pseuds/RosesToPaint
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the disastrous events of the Triwizard Tournament, Albus Dumbledore sees himself confronted with an old problem he's never quite managed to solve: Lord Voldemort, the darkest wizard of his age. But when one is at their wit's end, there's nothing quite like a fresh mind to shed new light on things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

I am so excited for this fic.

I can’t promise that it’ll get as much of my attention as **Bonds and Hugs** , especially since I’m currently short on time, but I’m super pumped, and that usually only means good things.

Project 2 of my Guilty Pleasure Writing Challenge – please enjoy!

* * *

 

She knows of course that there’s more than just a little pressure associated with his position. Not just the official one, mind you, but most of all the one behind the scenes.

And it’s not as if she doubts his intentions. God heavens, no. She trusts him with her life; his integrity is beyond question.

That does not, however, mean that she always agrees with his ideas. Or that she understands his reasoning behind them, even if he patiently takes the time to walk her through them. She’s not a dim person by any means either, so it is not like she is frequently unable to follow abstract reasoning.

So every once in a while, in her darkest, most shameful moments, she suspects that the others might possibly be _right_.

Yes, even Minerva McGonagall cannot help but occasionally suspect that Headmaster Dumbledore might have lost his marbles. As the years go by those moments have become less and less. During their progressing acquaintance and eventual friendship she has learnt that oftentimes genius does not translate well into words, and that occasional bouts of incoherence have more to do with the limitations of language itself, rather than the limits of Albus’ mind.

She has also accepted, if unwillingly, that sometimes certain sacrifices and rule breakings are necessary to see things through to the end. ‘A regrettable commonality of Gryffindor’s and Slytherin’s worst traits’ Albus calls it, which would explain why both she and Severus are so incredibly uncomfortable with it.

They surely are uncomfortable with his newest idea.

It is possibly the Gryffindor in her that’s already wriggling to interrupt Albus, long before he has actually finished his explanation. She’s heard ‘ninjas’ and ‘other dimensions’ and ‘breaking into the Ministry’ and, by Merlin’s pants, that’s already enough to make her want to shake the old fool, no matter what brilliant _point_ he’s trying to make in the end.

Risking a sidelong glance at her colleague, she can see that – lightning strike him down sometimes – they are of one mind in this at least. While far more composed than she herself feels, his lip is curling up so far in disgust, that she fears it might peel back over his skull like a bad All Hallow’s Eve costume.

“So what do you say?” the Headmaster finishes with an expectant smile.

He looks rather like a little boy who just discovered that garden gnomes would make for great indoor pets.

She feels rather like the mother who is about to tell him why that is a particularly bad idea.

“Well, Albus, bringing them here might be a little problematic,” she tries diplomatically.

Next to her Severus sounds as if he is about to have a fit.

“ _Bringing them here_? If _that_ is your greatest concern, Minerva – “

“Now, now my boy,” Albus cuts him off, eyes twinkling in that annoying way that tells her he’s already made up his mind. “Of course I know about the … difficulties of bringing them here. However, I can still boast a few friends in high places, who will ease the process significantly.”

“I have no doubt that you can bring them here,” Severus grits out. “If there is one thing that I know you to be quite capable off, it’s walking straight into the _Ministry_ and convincing the officials to do your bidding, without the _Minister_ being any the wiser. What I am worried about is what you will do with them, once you _have_ them.”

Minerva privately agrees. It’s not as if they could smuggle a bunch of ninjas into Hogwarts without a student running right to their parents and reporting them. She tries not to look at Severus, but he probably already knows that his own protégés are to most likely offenders.

Apart from that, ‘having them assist’ could mean about a dozen of things. What exactly would Albus have them do? Run He-who-must-not-be-named through with a sword?

Not that anybody has tried it yet, so she cannot say with certainty that it would not work, but still …

“Ahh – you see, just one ninja would be more than enough,” Albus says, shaking his finger at them in excitement. “We don’t need an army to fight our war. No, that would not only be immoral, but also put us into their debt far more than I could reasonably repay. What we need is _expertise_. I myself can only approach strategy the way I would approach a chess game, because it is the only form of war I have ever studied. But any fool can see that the comparison is lacking!”

He smacks his desk in aggravation.

“War is not chess. Not merely. It is also checkers and poker and a delightful muggle game called ‘Cluedo’. As it is, I am out of my depths.”

It’s a frightening thing to hear from a man she admires so. Then again, she’d rather have him admit it, than paddling about in unknown waters by himself.

“So we need them,” she concludes.

“How … unfortunate,” Severus says, displeasure still prominent all over his face. It’s defeat she hears in his voice though. If Albus Dumbledore feels the need to reach out for help, who are they to stop him?

 

It is in fact not Albus who prances into the Ministry to flex his muscles. It’s Sturgis Podmore from Magical Law Enforcement. He walks up to little Annie Bruckstein the administrative clerk, throws out a charming smile and tells her, just between the two of them, really don’t tell anybody, Albus Dumbledore needs a favor.

And yes, he’s not quite so popular right now, but after that debacle with the poor Diggory boy the old chap feels mighty guilty, and really, who could hold it against the man that he’s taking the Potter boy’s side. Always been a little sentimental, that Dumbledore, and of course if something traumatized a child and killed another it _must_ be the Dark Lord in his eyes.

Of course, of course – Annie agrees whole heartedly. After all she holds many fond memories of the Professor and with age … well, you know what it does to people. Doesn’t mean his heart isn’t in the right place.

But what kind of favor could Albus Dumbledore possibly want from her?

Well, well, you see, maybe just a few minutes with the Veil in the Department of Mysteries – not to _take_ anything of course, swear on my magic.

 

And so, even though Annie Bruckstein isn’t entirely sure what in the world Albus Dumbledore could possibly want with an old archway, she puts a stamp on all the appropriate documents for Sturgis and sends him along.

After all, if they’re not going to take anything, why not?

 

Why not indeed.

 

Sturgis’ orders are truly not to take anything. But there is a letter in his pocket – not to mention the _owl_ it is attached to – that he will be leaving there. He’s not entirely sure how the animal will reach its destination, but to be fair, nobody is entirely sure of how they do it, so it might be nothing to worry about.

Closing the heavy door of the Death Room behind him, Sturgis procures the ruffled looking owl from the pocket of his cloak.

“Ok mate,” he says, shivering at the sight of the Veil, “the Professor says you know what you’ve got to do.”

The owl gives him a _look_.

“Yes, yes _I know_ , ok? But this is kind of important. We’re looking for - … wait give me a second.”

He sticks his free arm back into his cloak pocket and rummages around.

“Oh Merlin, where did I put it?”

His arm has vanished up to the elbow into the pocket before he finally pulls out a wrinkled piece of paper.

“Hi-ru-zen Sa-ru-tobi. Weird name. Well, him or whoever is left of his line.“

The owl makes a discontented noise, but flutters its wings obligingly.

“Don’t forget,” Sturgis cautions. “If this letter business is anything like apparating, who knows where you’ll land if you don’t pay attention. Destination, Determination, Deliberation!”

The owl nips at his finger. _Don’t tell me how to do my job_.

“Well,” he snaps, nursing the bleeding appendage, “then go ahead and do your thing. Don’t come crying to me when you’ve got to fly all the way back from Timbuktu.”

And so the owl takes off, effortlessly passing through the archway. The only sign that something just disturbed the artefact is the faint fluttering of the tattered black veil.


	2. 2

Weeks pass.

Severus Snape has already forgotten about the dreadful ‘ninja’ affair. Though that might not be entirely true. He has _tried_ to forget.

After all, ninjas are not easily forgotten.

But as time passes and there is no reply to Albus’ heartfelt plea for assistance, he slowly allows himself to believe that maybe that was the end of it. Of course things never work out in Severus Snape’s favor; so as soon as he has convinced himself that maybe these people have long since managed to kill each other off, there is suddenly a new spring in Albus’ step that speaks of disaster approaching fast.

“Severus, my dear boy!” the Headmaster calls to him, striding into the staff room with the gait of a much younger man, “Good news have reached me. Do this old man a favor and collect Minerva for me. I will need to speak to you two in my office.”

Privately Severus doubts that Minerva would appreciate being ‘collected’.

“Can’t say I’m not a little envious,” Filius remarks from his place across Severus.

“And curious,” Pomona adds. “Why does he only ever speak to you two?”

“If you are so eager to be Albus’ sounding board,” Severus states snidely, “you’re welcome to take my place. I am curious whether you will still be so enthusiastic when he pulls you from your bed at two at night, because he’s just had _an idea_.”

And with that he departs, cloak swishing around the corner.

 

“He’s not wrong,” Filius admits.

“Yes,” Pomona agrees, “he’s just an assh-“

 

Minerva does not like to be collected, gathered, rounded up, summoned, or otherwise.

Especially so by Severus, and particularly not when he is wearing _that_ sort of expression. Years before it would have meant she’d have to take points from James Potter and Sirius Black for stringing him up by his underpants. Nowadays it mostly seems to be connected to Albus’ more _out there_ ideas.

She’s not entirely sure which scenario she prefers. Sometimes she thinks he isn’t either.

They make their way to the headmaster’s office in prim silence. It feels like beginnings of a storm; suspiciously calm, but with a certain undercurrent. Fear maybe. Fear for her sanity, most assuredly.

“Minerva, Severus, please come inside!” Albus voice calls cheerily from inside, even before either of them can lift their hand to knock.

Wary of having yet again to talk Albus out of the whole ninja business, Minerva throws open the door. What she didn’t expect, was for said ninja to be already there. She stares.

It’s a tall man. Taller certainly than Albus who is standing right next to the stranger, childishly fascinated by a multitude of paraphernalia spread out on his desk. For a second Minerva’s eyes are glued to the sheer number of knives stacked right next to Albus’ kitschy tea set, then they snap back towards the owner of those monstrosities.

It’s obvious that he just changed a few moments ago into the customary wizard robes, as he’s still plucking at his cloak and mustering the simple black tie in his hand as if not quite sure what to do with it. He’s also still wearing a ghastly _mask_ over his mouth and nose, as well as a strange looking headband that appears to have slipped over his eye by accident. He makes no move to right it.

“Albus –“ she chokes out, only marginally aware of Severus frozen behind her.

The headmaster smiles genially at them.

“Do come over! Let me introduce to you our companion for now. Kakashi Hatake. Kakashi, this are Minerva McGonagall and Severus Snape. I dare say you will see quite a lot of each other.”

The man’s one eye crinkles and he raises a lazy hand in greeting.

“Yo.”

“I’m feeling a little faint,” she admits distantly, as his sleeve slips down and reveals yet more knives.

“ _Don’t you dare_ , Minerva,” Severus hisses, quite suddenly revived from his stasis. “Don’t you dare faint and leave me to deal with this … - _disaster_. Some Gryffindor you are.”

“Now, now,” the headmaster chides. “Please have a seat and a cup of tea. It’s all not as bad as it looks, I assure you.”

 

It is as bad as it looks.

Neither the headmaster nor ‘Kakashi’ himself can offer any sort of detail about his person.

“If I told you, I would have to kill you,” the man says pleasantly, with a hint of a smile around his eye. Despite his friendly demeanor, Albus’ serious face indicates this to be meant quite literally. Without officially initiating Kakashi into the Order there is also no way to give him any details about the war apart from what is freely found in the Hogwarts library.

So in the end, nobody knows anything about anyone.

“Well,” Severus snipes, “this has been _enlightening_. If you’d excuse me, I have classes to prepare.”

“Not so hasty, Severus,” the headmaster stops him. “I thought one of you could show Kakashi to our new headquarters. I know Sirius is getting quite anxious all by himself; a little company would surely be a welcome diversion.”

Severus, who has barely re-taken his seat, swiftly rises to his feet again.

“I believe this excludes me from that particular conversation. In no possible universe Black and I will ever be a welcome diversion to each other.”

Albus casts him a reprimanding look, but says nothing. Maybe he hoped that the Head of Slytherin would at least take an interest in their resident ninja – sneaky and sly as they are both supposed to be. He should really know better by now, she thinks in bemusement. Two snakes do not make friends; they bite each other’s heads off.

“Very well then,” she says, resigning herself to her fate. “I assume we are leaving immediately?”

Albus nods.

“That would be ideal. Kakashi, all you will need is already prepared in your room; Sirius will show you where it is.”

 

Kakashi takes the flooing with an expected minimalist attitude. A little uncomfortably she offers her hand, reminded of the yearly ordeal of getting muggleborns to Diagon Alley.

“Thank you, but I don’t believe our relationship is quite at that point yet,” he says. “I’m shy, you see.”

There is a suspicious noise coming from behind them but, when Minerva whips around, Albus is calmly sipping his tea.

“Yes?” he enquires, eyes twinkling.

A little miffed she throws a pinch of floo powder into the fire.

“The Hog’s Head.”

Then she steps into the flames.

 

To say Molly Weasley is a little skeptical might be an understatement. It was already a difficult decision to move her family into Grimmauld Place as it is – if it were just Arthur and her, gosh, it would be different of course. She remembers the last war so clearly; really, the pictures will never completely leave her. Most of her family died during those years. And yet, she’d do it all over again, because it was the right thing to do.

But now she has her children to think about; Ron, whom she raised better than to leave poor, dear Harry to his fate; Fred and George, who she’ll have to put on a leash once they hear about the Order; and dear little Ginny or course, young and overly enthusiastic as she is. She tries not to think about Percy, so far out of their reach now, but no less in danger because of them. Instead she thanks every god out there that Charlie is near untouchable in Romania, and that Bill has more sense than all of his siblings put together. Despite what the earrings may suggest.

It’s irrational of course. The war has already begun; officially moving into Grimauld Place will not make it begin _more_ or _harder_. They are in danger wherever they are. A place under Albus’ protection is much safer than what most other families will have. And yet … this is a step that will make the Order – the war – the most prominent part of their lives. So the headmaster will forgive her if she’s not too happy to invite yet another reminder of this into their new home. ‘A soldier’ Albus called him. A ninja, whatever that may be. And while the thought of a trained professional assisting them is somewhat of a relief, this man is also a complete stranger.

Albus has assured her repeatedly that there is no way he could be on the Dark Lord’s side, but a stranger is a stranger, especially during times like these. So yes, she is skeptical. And curious.

 

It’s an endless source of entertainment to Arthur that the twins’ sneaky, troublemaking ways are in fact not a Weasley trait, but a Prewett one. While Molly’s brothers were the most undeniable proof of this, the Weasley matriarch herself cannot quite hide her own proclivities either. And so, as soon as the news reach her that said ‘ninja’ has arrived, she goes to sneak a peek at him.

Nerves may have made her a little more snappy with Ron as she sent her children to bed, but she couldn’t help it. If Albus’ enthusiastic praises are to be believed this person could very well turn the tides in their favor. Also, this evening is not promising to be very enjoyable, strange ninja aside. Tension between her and Sirius has been running high for a while now – that man does not quite have the measure of Harry that he thinks he does. She quietly suspects that Azkaban affected him in ways that he himself isn’t entirely aware of.

Harry does look like his father. Sometimes even she walks into a room and has to pause, because she could swear it’s James Potter standing right there. It startles her every time and makes strange sparks of nostalgia and regret bloom in her chest. It must be especially hard for Sirius. Molly pities him for that; something that makes her a little ashamed and Sirius even more furious with her.

The vague premonition that it will probably be Severus bringing the man does not help the entire thing. She respects the man – he has earned that much from her – but she does not like him. Severus does not make it easy for _anyone_ to like him. Privately she thinks it’s a defense mechanism as much as it is simply his prickly character. Combined with Sirius’ perpetually bad mood and an armed stranger the situation has potential to become explosive.

 

Of course one does not simply sneak into Grimmauld Place.

The wards will throw Sirius out of bed as soon as she steps a foot into the street. It’ll be better if it’s her, she thinks. The last thing Sirius’ temper needs is to be woken up by Severus. Though to her astonishment Molly is not the first to arrive; when she opens the door the ugly umbrella stand is shoved into the far corner – a sure fire sign that Nymphadora has passed by recently. The young woman’s voice is coming from the living room, high and excited, intermittedly shushed by a much older, much gruffer one. Mad-Eye?

Dora sticks her head out into the hallway to grin at her.

“Wotcher, Molly! So you couldn’t wait either? Come up, come up!”

Next to Molly Mrs. Black lets out a sleepy groan. Dora makes a face. ‘Come!’ she mouths, beckoning her with exaggerated gestures.

It is indeed Mad-Eye. He has taken up residence in the armchair with the best view over the room, back to the wall.

“Molly. Nice to see a little bit of reason around here.”

His eye quivers with tension. Oh yes, she thinks a little uncomfortably. The only reason around here.

“Where is Sirius?” she asks instead. “He’s not gone back to his room, has he?”

“Oh please,” Dora snorts. “Not if there’s a chance he can have a go at Snape. Been terribly wound up lately. Honestly, I’d rather he blow up at someone who probably deserves it before he starts tearing at the wallpaper.”

Mad-Eye hums in agreement. From downstairs she can hear Sirius’ heavy footsteps approaching, accompanied by the sound of clacking porcelain. When he enters the room Molly feels another shameful bout of pity. He’s paler than usual – not as thin anymore, since Kreacher at least prepares regular meals – but the sort of unhealthy that stems from depression. It takes a second before he notices her.

“Molly,” he acknowledges with wan smile that fades quickly. “So the headmaster’s tall tales lured you too.”

She huffs.

“Of course _not_. I am … appropriately concerned about the _complete stranger_ we’re bringing into our headquarters.”

Which is not even a lie and therefore allows her to keep her stern face. Does it matter if she has other minor reasons? Of course not.

Sirius makes a noise that’s part annoyance, part surprise. He sets a tablet of teacups down on the rickety looking sofa table with a _clang_.

“It’s Minnie,” he grunts, seconds before the door opens downstairs. Snippets of conversation float up the stairs, sending Dora into a giggle.

“… - at least right the headband? … awful mask - …. please, Mr. Hatake! … first impression.”

The calm answer is too low to make out; Minerva’s huff of exasperation isn’t. A ghost of a smile is making its way onto Sirius’ face. Mad-Eye’s eye has swiveled down, flashing the white in her direction.

“ ‘nother nutjob,” he grumbles.

A peculiar mixture of dread and resignation rises in her. If even Mad-Eye thinks him strange … Dora is out of her chair in a matter of seconds, bounding down the stairs before either of them can stop her.

“Professor!” she chirps. “You brought the new guy?”

“Obviously, girl!” Mad-Eye barks. “Come back up, by Merlin’s saggy underpants!”

More footsteps follow and Minerva sweeps into the room. For a moment Molly is stunned by her fierce scowl and flaring nostrils. Then the stranger steps in behind her.

“Oh my!” she squawks, before clapping her hand over her mouth.

“Hello,” the stranger intones, flashing them a peace sign.

Somewhere to her left Sirius starts to laugh.


	3. Chapter 3

Yessss … it’s been a while. Luckily for you, my creative energy has been all over the place and a little bit of inspiration dropped into this chapter.

 

* * *

 

Things go … not _well_ per se, but better than expected. _Kakashi_ is a quiet houseguest. He tidies up after himself, spends most of the day in his room, and the only sign that he eats at all is that sometimes a little food goes missing from the kitchen. The only disconcerting thing at all is the way he, pleasantly but firmly, told them not to enter his room without permission. She'd confessed to him, a little worriedly, that this might only egg on Fred and George. But the man had only crinkled an eye at her and said, "Not to worry. I'm really good with kids."

Now that she thinks about it, _that_ had been a little more disconcerting still.

Whether or not the strange man knows how to handle children has not been put to the test yet. Ron is appropriately intimidated by the masked stranger and she hasn't let Ginny leave her sight for more than a few minutes. But in a week's time Hermione will arrive and  _oh lord_ , will that be a sight to see.

There are several bets going on between Sirius, the twins and – surprisingly – Remus about how and when the girl is going to corner the poor man.

"I'm telling you, I give it two days at the most," Sirius insists. He's grinning in a way she hasn't seen since they met for the first time, months ago. Remus shakes his head.

"No, no, she's going to wait at least a week. Feel out the situation … see if someone else has already asked. Her research is very thorough, very systematic; I should know, I was her teacher."

Both of them had at least five gallons put down the last time she heard. Fred pushes two coins forward with his fingers.

"And we still think she's not going to make it a whole day. In fact, these two sickles say she'll march right up to him as soon as she hears about it."

Molly whacks his hand and snatches the money off the table.

"And where did you get this, young man? I don't recall giving you that much pocket money."

"We saved," George says, fishing the money back out of her hand, "like responsible adults."

"So, so – and now you're gambling with it like responsible adults? I don't think so."

Her son is quick to let the coins vanish back into his pockets.

"It's a sucker bet, mum," Fred grins at her, "Or do you really think Hermione's that patient?"

Privately, she doesn't. Not that she'd admit it. But Hermione, bless the girl, is one of the nosiest people she's ever met.

"No gambling!" she warns him, but lets it slide when George carefully slips the coins into Sirius' hand as soon as her back is turned. One would think the trouble they had with Ludovic Bagman last year would have taught them better.

 

The day of Harry's arrival inches closer. Ron dreads it as much as he's looking forward to it. It's been weeks since he last saw his best friend but, while some things might admittedly escape him, the tone of Harry's letters has taken a nose dive that makes even him sit up and take notice.

Hermione's arrival, scheduled for about four tomorrow afternoon, triggers similarly conflicting feelings.

On the one hand Grimmauld Place is making his skin itch all by himself and Hermione will surely know what to do about Harry. On the other hand … Ron's eyes slowly creep up to the ceiling, or more specifically, the room above, where Mr. … Hatake has holed up. Fred and George aren't the only ones scenting a confrontation. While Dumbledore might be delighted about the strange man's presence, he gives Ron the creeps.

He can't even be entirely sure why. There are no strange smells or noises coming from the room – no matter what Sirius keeps insisting – and the few times he's seen Mr. Hatake he's been unfailingly polite and friendly, if short. And yet. Something about that smile seems entirely fake. If he's so happy to help them and such a good person, why in Merlin's name does he never come down? What sort of important things could he possibly be doing in his room? There's something fishy about all this and if Hermione won't throw herself head first into an investigation, Harry will.

Ginny for one looks as if there's nothing she'd rather do.

"Oh come on!" she hisses at him. "Just a peek! He hasn't warded the door; as far as I know he doesn't even lock it. Mom says he can't even do magic, so it's not as if he'll know."

"He will," Ron grouches, "if we open the door while he's bloody  _inside_! It's not as if he ever leaves."

His sister gives a vague shrug.

"Fred said that Dumbledore's coming tonight – last full Order meeting before Harry comes. He'll have to come down then."

Ah damn, there goes his last excuse.

"Why don't you ask Fred and George? I really don't want to go up there."

"Coward." Her nose scrunches up in annoyance. "And it's not like I didn't ask them. But they'd rather wait a day longer and just throw Hermione under the Hippogriff."

Of course they do. He seriously doubts his brothers are as wary of the man as he is; they probably only find it more amusing this way. Or they simply fear Hermione more and think that in a pinch she'd win the fight. And while Ron would bet money on Hermione any day, Mr. Hatake isn't a sort of weird they're familiar with. Who knows what he's hiding in that room. His red-headed sister sighs dramatically. "And all the bragging rights will go to someone who doesn't even care."

"Bohoo, Gin. Mum will string us up by our ankles, so no thanks."

"So you _are_ scared."

"Of _mum,_ es. And so are you," he reminds her. Ginny only shrugs sheepishly. Grimmauld Place is driving them all crazy. No wonder Sirius looks so … not put together. The house reeks of dark magic and is also bloody depressing. Ron has no idea how someone would voluntarily spend any time here; Sirius' mum and dad must have been complete nutters.

 

Kakashi, for his part, is still trying to wrap his head around the whole magic business. Albus was nice – or rather practical – enough to give him access not only to the Black library, but also every book in his personal one. Books are currently piling up in every corner of his room; he's pretty sure if Molly Weasley were to spontaneously walk in she'd have a stroke. Therefore Kakashi has taken extra care to close the door firmly behind him whenever he leaves the room.

He's halfway through a book on the history of magic – so many wars, he's almost impressed – and mostly done with the fourth grade books on transfiguration and potions. Arithmancy seems useful but was worked through pretty quickly; math has never given him problems after all. No, it's going well so far.

Of course he still has no idea what is really going on. All Kakashi currently knows is that there's an enemy – a Dark Lord, who is after this Harry Potter boy. His first instinct is to scoff, after all what would a powerful wizard want with a boy, but then he remembers Orochimaru and Sasuke and everything suddenly makes a lot more sense. He sincerely hopes that this is where the similarities between the two boys end, or he can just re-pack his bags and go home.

Tonight Albus is going to call the entire 'Order' together for a meeting. He will be formally inducted there, something Kakashi doesn't look forward to in the least. Wizards, for all their magical attack power, do seem a lot like civilians to him. Fussy, easily frightened, easily offended. Meeting the headmaster had given him the fleeting hope that maybe this mission wouldn't demand a stiff posture and a grim face all the time, but this McGonagall lady and the ill-tempered Snape fellow quickly taught him differently. But hey, he's not the type to let that squash all his fun.

If he's right, it's only a matter of time before the red-headed pair of twins or their sister will try to sneak into his room. They're in for a surprise, he thinks, letting his finger pluck at the almost invisible wire that connects the door to a load of smoke and pepper bombs. Perfectly harmless and very unpleasant.

A half finished report is buried under a heavy tome titled 'Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them', waiting for him to wrap it up. It's not a very detailed one, but the Godaime will just have to deal. Whatever they'll speak about tonight, he sincerely doubts that he'll have enough time to write it all down and give it to Professor Dumbledore to pass on before he leaves again. Kakashi drags his fingers through his hair, grabbing his hitai-ate contemplatively. Should he get rid of it? It's not as if it would be much trouble to just keep the damn eye closed. Let them think he lost it.

He also grudgingly agrees with McGonagall that the mask will probably have to go. He still feels naked without it though. For a moment Kakashi contemplates his cloak, a thin, wooly thing that looks as fancy as it looks foreign. He folds up the soft collar, pleased to see that it can be buttoned up a little higher. The end result gapes open a bit and doesn't quite reach his nose, but a well-placed genjutsu should be enough to fix that.

He doesn't look like himself anymore, Kakashi thinks, not sure whether to be pleased about that or not. Surely most people would walk past him now, even with his rather fearsome reputation. Not those who mattered, but most. He tries to flatten his hair a little, just to see what would happen, but the Hatake genes seem stronger than him. After a few tries he gives up with a sigh and a wistful smile tugging at his mouth. Aw, well. He looks … harmless now. Less like a ninja, more like a civilian. It's not the first time he has to disguise himself for an infiltration mission, but the first time he'll have to keep it up for such a long time.

By the time he was old enough for deep-cover missions, the Elders had already realized his Sharingan and Chidori would be much more use in ANBU, so that particular honor passed him by. He wonders what sort of ninja he'll have to be. A professional, someone to follow? A friend they can trust? A soldier, teacher, tool? And should it matter? Strictly speaking only Professor Dumbledore is his client, and in case of his death, Kakashi's contract will pass over to Harry Potter. All he needs to worry about is their opinion. But then again … he's always been a team player and a war can't be won by one person alone.

In any case, tonight will be very interesting. Maybe this could be fun after all.

 

When Albus Dumbledore sets foot into Grimmauld Place number 12, the entire house seems to brighten a little. It's not just Sirius' imagination – the place is soaked in dark magic and the echoes of desolation. The headmaster is a beacon of benevolence, steady yet forceful, and the entire house seems to shirk away from him. Sirius watches the shadows under the stairs shrink as the wizard climbs them and observes gleefully how the portraits turn their backs, eyes resentful and wary; even his mother is suspiciously quiet. "Say, Sirius, how has it been?"

"Hmm … so so," he hedges. He hates this house. No matter how glad Sirius is to see the headmaster, it doesn't mean he has to make it easy on the old man. Not after being grounded here like a misbehaving teenager. The professor turns his head back a little, glasses glinting in the low light of the candles.

"Come now, Sirius. Surely Mr. Hatake has been very entertaining for you."

At this Sirius has to snort. It's true – even, or maybe especially, in his absence that ninja fellow has shown to be  _very_  entertaining. Everyone is fretting about the stranger in their headquarters, even while said stranger doesn't seem bothered in the least. Either the guy is stupidly oblivious, or he gets off on the chaos. Both would be funny, he has to admit.

"Oh, he's entertaining all right. Can't wait to introduce him to Harry and see what happens." The thought of his godson brightens Sirius' face immediately and without concious thought. Just a few more days, he thinks wistfully. He can do a few more days. "So what exactly is he supposed to do here?" The older wizard hums noncommittally.

"It's best if we wait for the others to arrive. I'm afraid some of them will be quite unhappy with me about it." Sirius raises his eyebrows. Unhappy with Albus? That would be new. Though if it's Snape who'll blow his top, Sirius will gladly sit and watch with a cup of tea in hand.

The sitting room with its three doors is probably not the best place for a meeting, but Molly hasn't quite finished cleaning out the kitchen yet, so they'll have to improvise. "I locked the twins in their room," the Weasley matriarch announces, stuffing her sons' wands into her apron pocket with a satisfied huff. "And Ginny and Ron know I'll hex their ears into cauliflower if they try to listen in. I think we are good for now." Next to her Arthur winces in sympathy, as if he's intimately familiar with having cauliflower for ears.

There weren't couches and armchairs, so they levitated in chairs from the kitchen and an assortment of furniture from the library and the decrypt, doxy infested drawing room. Sirius watches in amusement how tall, stately Kingsley Shacklebolt surveys the occupied chairs with disappointment and then squeezes into a faded old loveseat with equally tall but very lean Hestia Jones. The woman's face briefly twists into something awkward before smoothing over when she catches Sirius looking at them. 'Screw you,' her eyes say and Sirius winks at her.

Exactly seven minutes after the appointed time even Mundungus Fletcher has finally found his way into the room and Albus claps his narrow hands with surprising strength.

"If I may have your attention! Minerva, are you taking minutes?… Yes, very well then. As you may know, this is our last meeting before Hestia and Dedalus retrieve Mr. Potter from his aunt and uncle's home. I assume everything is in order there?"

Hestia nods enthusiastically. "They'll be out of the house when we get there."

"Wonderful. Now, if you'd walk us through the plan once more."

Sirius tunes them out. Hestia and Dedalus are more than a little eccentric, but they're both very capable and, in Hestia's case also very shrewd. Whatever plan they've come up with, Sirius is confident they'll pull it off without a hitch. Especially now, while You-know-who is still laying pretty low. The part that really interests him, more than how they faked a competition about lawn maintenance, who is patrolling the Department of Mysteries, and frankly also what pettiness Percy Weasley threw at his parents' head this time around, seems to be scheduled for last. Probably because the protests are bound to be spectacular.

"Now," the old wizard finally announces while most of the Order members' thoughts already seem to be on dinner, "a five minute break, and then we will have something else to discuss."

His face is serious enough to make even Shacklebolt lean forward in anticipation, but then Albus stands up with a flourish, startling them out of the tense atmosphere. "But first, tea."

 


	4. Chapter 4

That was incredibly fast, even for me. I hope you like it – it was a lot of fun to write. Turns out, I love to write perspective jumping.

 

* * *

 

When they reassemble in the sitting room, the murmur of excitement can’t be contained. Especially not when Hatake steps into the room, looking for all the world to see like a particularly eccentric but perfectly regular wizard. A scar runs across his right eye, ragged and deep; the other one crinkles at Sirius in good humor. He can’t wait to see how this will play out.

In the corner Snape is commandeering a two-seater all by himself, looking sullen when the very same eye crinkle sways in his direction. Minerva, too, looks tense. Their mood spills over into the rest of the group without any trying. There’s a nervous smile on Dora Tonks’ face; Kingsley shifts uncomfortably. Mundungus is slowly inching towards the door. Sirius gleefully settles back into his chair, waiting for Albus to continue as if the entire thing were a particularly engaging play. This is the most action he’s had in weeks.

“To my great relief,” Albus announces as soon as the door swings close and everyone takes a wary seat, “I have been able to secure us assistance. I’m certain one or two of you have come across the term ‘ninja’ during their studies – whether at Hogwarts or at the Ministry.” He inclines his head towards Kingsley, who nods back carefully, eyes now fixed on the strange newcomer. “In my younger years I have been fortunate enough to become acquainted with Mr. Hatake’s superior. It has never seemed … prudent before to involve them, despite our heavy losses, and in my darker hours I regret that decision very much. But now, I’m afraid, the time has come to reach out for help. Mr. Hatake has come highly recommended.”

The Order’s looks range from grim defeat to confusion and occasional flashes of fear from those more familiar with the term ‘ninja’.

“Wait a second,” Dora quips up. “I know that a ninja is supposed to be … a killer, right?” She directs the tentative question towards Hatake, who inclines his head in vague agreement. Dora winces minutely, as if she secretly hoped he’d deny it. Molly Weasley buries her face in her hands. “All right, so I understand why you wouldn’t want to involve them – there are more than one, aren’t there? If You-know-who” – and here Albus shoots her a slightly disapproving look – “ _Voldemort_. If _Voldemort_ knew they exist, he’d surely have hired some too. But what exactly are we doing with just one? And what changed – why ask for help now?”

The headmaster nods enthusiastically. “A very good question, Nymphadora,” he endorses, ever the teacher. “The answer is simple: Voldemort will not know about him. Mr. Hatake will be the ace in our sleeves. Not our … killer, but our tactician.” He lays a soothing hand on Molly’s shoulder. “Our principles are what sets us apart from our enemies, Molly. I have not forgotten it, neither will I. These are desperate times, so allowances have to be made and you know how I – and everyone here – feels about Voldemort and his inner circle. But that is where it ends. We will not be them.”

He gestures towards Hatake, whose eye turns flinty and hard the moment he steps into the middle of the room.

“My name,” he announces in a firm voice, “is Hatake. It means nothing to you, but where I come from it means I never let a comrade die. I cannot make any promises – death is the nature of war. But if we fight this one together, be assured that I will die for you if it comes to it.” His accent is light and lilting, and it makes him sound entirely strange and foreign. A shiver runs down Sirius spine the same way it did when James said those very words to him many years ago. He remembers the dim glow of the Potters’ floo and his wet cloak, almost as heavy on his shoulders as their close brush with death. ‘I will die for you if I have to.’

He’s serious.

“But primarily,” the other man continues, startling Sirius out of half-fond and painful memories, “I will be your advisor. My training included extensive study of war and battlefield strategies, subterfuge, infiltration and sabotage.”

“Is that so,” Snape drawls. “I have to say that does not inspire confidence.” Sirius scoffs at him, ignoring the way Moody looks as if he wants to agree with the git.

“I don’t want to hear that from you of all people.” He bites down on the ‘Snivellus’ only because Hatake _is_ a stranger and doesn’t need to hear that. Before Snape can gear up for a nasty comeback, Albus lifts his hands appeasingly.

“Please. We’re all friends here,” he reminds them, ignoring both Snape’s and Sirius’ incredulous looks. Hatake is still watching them with a calculating expression on his face.

“This,” he says firmly, “will have to stop.” Then he turns back to the Order at large. “I can help you predict your enemies’ movements and tell you how to counter them. I will help you form efficient teams and teach you how to move unseen even without magic. And, if necessary, I will show you how to extract information from an unwilling source.”

“That … won’t be necessary,” Albus interjects. “But thank you Mr. Hatake. I hope with this we will gain the edge we need to pull ahead of Voldemort and his supporters.”

“The Dark Lord will know,” Snape says. “He will notice that our tactics have changed and he will want me to tell him why.”

“Your Dark Lord is a mind reader, isn’t he?” Hatake quips up, interested. “I can help you with that.”

On that ominous note the meeting ends, because the sound of an explosion carries downstairs. Molly shoots up from her seat, face white with irrational fear. The house is under the fidelius, but they’re all paranoid here. Even Dora cautiously draws her wand.

“Smoke bombs,” Hatake informs them cheerily, serious demeanor all but forgotten. “Mrs. Weasley, you should probably see to your sons.” Her expression immediately turns harrowed.

“Well. Excuse me then,” she grinds out, smoke all but steaming out of her nose. She stomps out of the door. Not two seconds later yelling drifts into the room and Dora starts to laugh.

“Those twins,” she chortles. “Got to love them.”

“Oh,” Kakashi muses, “I don’t think it’s the twins.” And then he turns around and leaves the room.

 

“Interesting fellow, isn’t he?” Dora muses, propping one foot up on the arm of Moody’s chair. He knocks harshly against the sole of her shoe but she only grins at him.

“’Interesting’,” he grunts. “That’s not the word I’d use. His eye … the one he keeps closed. It’s a strange one. Suspicious, I’d even say.”

“I don’t want to hear that from you,” Sirius quips for the second time that evening and Dora laughs.

“He’s got you there,” she chirps. “What sort of eye is it?” Moody’s own eye rolls wildly in its socket.

“I have no idea, girl. That’s what worries me. But it’s red – like a demon, I tell you.”

She rolls her eyes. There are some things about her mentor that she respects dearly; his paranoia has always sort of skirted the edge. It makes him a great Auror, but he never knows when to just turn it down a few notches. She stretches, feeling suddenly tired. It’s been a pretty long day for her and this meeting took more out of her than she expected. This entire ninja business still feels a bit surreal. Hatake doesn’t look like much, except for when he does, and it makes her own Auror-honed instincts go haywire. She can’t for the life of her gauge what sort of person he is and that makes her no less nervous than Moody, even if it won’t stop her from giving the senior Auror a hard time.

“Say, Sirius, when’s your friend coming back?” She tries for casual and ignores the way her cousin’s eyes start to glint when it doesn’t work. “I mean, does he already know about this guy?”

“Yep,” he says. “He left again this morning and I’m not sure when he’ll be back, but Moony thinks we should wait and see what Harry thinks.” Mad-Eye scoffs, but Dora leans forward in interest.

“He good with that sort of thing?”

“Harry knows people,” Sirius agrees, sounding far older than he usually does. “He’s had to learn pretty quickly. Not that he _realizes_ it, but you can trust his judgment on things like this.”

Dora privately wonders how wise that is, putting so much trust in the word of a teenage boy, even if it is Harry Potter. But Albus seems to trust him equally much. She’s looking forward to meeting the boy.

 

Hermione arrives at Grimmauld Place on a dreary afternoon. She tries not to take it as a bad omen, for one because she puts no stock into things such as divination, and then also because in London dreary afternoons are somewhat of an inevitability. The entire trip is very hush hush, which makes her parents worry a little. But Miss Jones and Mr. Shacklebolt are very nice people and the air of competence that surrounds them speaks to the academics in her dentist parents.

She kisses them good-bye with a smile, hoping they’ll never know just where she’s going now. They are good, brave people but Hermione knows, if they had a choice, they’d rather their daughter were a little less good and brave than them.

All nervousness is immediately dispelled when they open the door and Molly Weasley comes out of the kitchen, dragging her into a hurried but firm embrace.

“Oh dear,” she sighs with feeling, “I hope they didn’t frighten you with all the secrecy.” She casts a dark look at the other two adults; Miss Jones – Hestia – seems amused.

“No more than necessary,” she assures the older woman, swinging the cloak from her shoulders and draping it haphazardly over the coat rack.

“You know us better than that,” Shacklebolt – Kingsley – chastises mildly and the Weasley matriarch nods curtly at him.

“Hermione, love, Ron is upstairs having a nap. I will wake him for tea. Ginny!”

A mop of wild red hair comes rushing down the stairs, just as a curtain whips open and someone starts to scream. “Oh dear,” the woman grunts in annoyance. “Sirius! Ginny, will you show Hermione to your room. You don’t mind sharing, do you? The house is … a little short on good bedrooms, I’m afraid. Sirius, your mother!” There’s a scramble around what appears to be a particularly ugly portrait and Ginny leads her upstairs. Sirius passes her with a wry grin and a careless salute. Hermione snorts.

“Ignore them,” Ginny advises, curling an arm through hers. “We’ve got a newbie and everyone’s nerves are a bit frazzled.”

“A newbie?” To be honest Hermione barely knows what’s going on in the first place – not for a lack of trying. She’s been asking incessant questions ever since Ron owled her the first time and dropped an ominous ‘we moved a bit’. Apart from the question on how someone could possibly move ‘a bit’, it irked her most that he wouldn’t tell why exactly they had to move. Of course she suspects it has to do with what happened in the graveyard last year – it would only make sense – but she quite underestimated the severity of the situation it seems. And now she’ll have to be vague to Harry too.

She pities her friend a little; he’s so far removed from everything at the Dursleys. Ginny steers her towards a heavy, stained oak door and tugs an equally heavy, ugly key from her pocket. She waves it at Hermione with a grin. “The only good thing about this place: spelled locks. The twins tried to pick one. I’m not sure if Fred could re-grow his eyebrow yet.”

Their room is small and obviously cobbled together from two different guest rooms, Ginny’s bed being a lurid purple, Hermione’s Slytherin green. “Sorry about that,” Ginny grins flopping down on the bed spread that clashes violently with her hair. “I thought you don’t believe in cooties anyway, so I left that one for you.”

Hermione unearths her shrunk bags from her pocket and throws them onto the bed.

“You’re right,” she says primly, “I don’t believe in cooties. I still don’t appreciate it, you traitor.” They’re nice sheets; she’ll still ask someone to turn them Gryffindor red. “So what’s going on? I know something about an ‘Order’, but nothing more. And who’s the new one?”

Ginny’s grin stretches from ear to ear, as if she’s been dying to tell her. She sits up, folds her hands in her lap and leans forward conspiratorially.

“The Order of the Phoenix,” she says with relish. “We haven’t figured much out yet but these are the basics: the last time … _Voldemort_ … was active, Professor Dumbledore led a team of wizards and witches against him – The Order of the Phoenix. That’s what this is. We’re in their headquarters. The place used to belong to Sirius' mum, so it’s a bit … well, you saw her portrait downstairs.” Ginny shrugs. “It’s not so terrible right now but it’s driving Sirius bonkers and he makes mum want to tear her hair out. So stay out of that if you can.”

Hermione grimaces. “Poor Sirius, trading one prison for another.”

“Yeah – he pretty much said he’d rather go back to eating rats. But here’s where Harry will be.”

Most of the time all Hermione can think of is how much she wants Voldemort gone – _dead_ – so that Harry can live a relatively normal life. As normal as Harry can, at least. But really, what she wants most for her friend is for him and Sirius to get the chance to be a proper family. Sirius needs closure and whatever is left of his brother, and Harry needs someone who loves him like proper family. She has no doubt Molly loves him, but it’s not the same, she suspects. Harry never had an adult of his own, someone who knew him as a baby and can tell him stories of how he robbed his parents of any and all sleep.

They’re not even sixteen, but already Hermione can’t help but draw parallels between Ron and Harry and Sirius and James. The idea makes her sick on Sirius’ behalf. It has also given her a lot more patience in dealing with the man. Would that make her Professor Lupin…? Hermione shakes her head.

“And what newcomer has them all in a tizzy?”

If possible, Ginny’s smug grin stretches even wider. She looks remarkably like the twins that way – like sly Fred more than mellow George – and Hermione tenses on pure reflex.

“Kakashi Hatake,” the red-head says, pausing artfully to observe her older friend’s reaction.

“Excuse me?” the other girl replies.

“He’s a supposed to do something for us. We’re not sure what, but everyone jumps at strange noises right now and the man has pretty much locked himself in his room. There was a meeting a few days ago about it and mum says he’s staying. Permanently.”

“His name sounds … Japanese?” Hermione ventures. “I heard of ninjas, but I thought they died out. They’re supposed to be assassins.”

Ginny’s eyes widen briefly in worry but then she frowns. “Well, if Professor Dumbledore brought him here, I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

Hermione wants to agree. The headmaster always knows what he’s doing. But this doesn’t sit well with her.


	5. Chapter 5

I’m on a roll – enjoy it while it lasts.

And yes, we’re going to move on to canon eventually, but for now this is just supposed to be fun. Also, because we have a lot of different perspectives, there are a lot of end goals for this fic. Ideally, everyone gets their own specific ending. So basically, this is several fics rolled into one, with Kakashi as the focal point:)

* * *

 

There's a knock on Kakashi's door. For a moment he allows himself to get a feel for the unfamiliar chakra signature – young, civilian, strangely erratic in the way these folks just seem to feel. Then he opens the door with a genial crinkle of his eye. The girl on the other side seems surprised at her marginal success. But the she visibly steels herself. “Hello,” she says primly.

“Miss Granger,” he acknowledges and watches how her eyes widen in surprise.

“How do you know my name?” she blurts out before she can catch herself.

“I did my homework,” he replies, somewhat bemused by her wry answering expression.

“I came to introduce myself,” she says, “but it seems that’s unnecessary?” Clever girl, he thinks approvingly.

“I see,” he demurs. “Well then, Miss Granger, you may come in anyway. A name does not make an introduction, after all.”

She's still too young to entirely squash the triumph in her eyes, but there’s promise here, he realizes. She steps cautiously into his room, eyes zeroing in on the clutter of books that towers on his desk. Kakashi isn’t quite oblivious to the rumors that surround his room but he’s still not sure what the girl expected. Whatever it was, it seems he defied expectations. Business as usual.

“Course work for … fifth years? And is that a sixth year Transfiguration textbook? You’re working your way through the Hogwarts curriculum.”

“Correct. As I’m sure you’ve been told, I’m unfamiliar with wizards as a whole.”

“And witches,” she corrects almost absentmindedly. “’Wizards’ is not the collective noun. You can use ‘Magicals’, if you must.” Kakashi files it away under ‘potentially useful’ and simply watches her go through his books with remarkably few qualms. There also seems no shame about being caught gossiping about him. Kurenai, he thinks. She reminds him of Kurenai. She sorts through his Potions and Charms books for the Hogwarts fifth years, noting the pages he dog eared.

“How fast can you read?” she asks. “Because I have notes for this year – I guess I can copy them for you.” She’s being either a bit rude or very practical; Kakashi can’t quite decide which one. But if she’s really as close to Harry Potter as Albus described, he can at least be sure that Hermione will cooperate, should the boy dig his heels in. He can deal with rudeness – it’s not as if it isn’t one of his own specialties.

So, “How kind, Miss Granger,” is what he says, even though the Sharingan speeds the reading process up considerably and he prefers having all the information. Finally she turns to look at him again, this time sizing him up in an entirely different way that definitely means business.

“I trust Professor Dumbledore,” she says, “but I know you’ll have to be around Harry too, not just the Order. What are you supposed to do with him?” She already looks to be gearing up for a fight should he deny her the information. Kakashi crinkles his eye at her, leaning forward in a way he knows to be intimidating.

“Don’t you worry about that. Right now I have absolutely no plans to even talk to your Harry. Right now my dealings are entirely with your headmaster.” When she still looks dissatisfied he adds, “If that changes we can discuss terms again, if you like.”

 

Hermione isn’t sure whether to be happy or annoyed quite yet. She’s … both. Cautiously both. Mr. Hatake isn’t what she expected. At first glance he seems like a very nice man. Maybe he even is, even if he makes something small and persistent niggle at the back of her head. But she can’t help but feel certain that he’s also a lot smarter than she feared. It should be a good thing, he’s on their side apparently, but it lets him play her like a fiddle.

‘Your Harry’ he said, with the intent to embarrass her. Which he did, just a little. And now he’s leaning towards her, towering over her by almost two heads. The collar of his cloak casts eerie shadows over his face and up close the scar over his eye looks brutal and intimidating. The remaining one is a cold, hard gray. ‘Discuss terms’ – another try to embarrass her. This time it doesn’t work. He’s good, but if someone tries to get at Harry they _will_ have to discuss terms with Ron and her.

“Well,” she tries, “we will do that.” A simple good-bye seems incredibly awkward now, so she nods at him manfully and, after he manfully nods back, walks out the door. It’s not as rewarding as she thought it would be; in fact it feels a little like a retreat.

 

Ginny and the twins wait at the end of the stairs for her. There’s an eager grin on the twins’ faces as they both sling an arm around her. “You were in his room,” George says and it sounds like a question and an accusation at once. “How did you do that?”

“I knocked,” she says simply and for a moment they all stare at her.

“Huh,” Ginny finally manages. “We didn’t think of that one.”

 

“You won the twins a bet,” Ron can’t help but point out. “Against Sirius _and_ Professor Lupin. That makes you their current favorite person, so be careful.”

“Yes,” she says, thankfully sounding resigned rather than annoyed with him. “I remember the last time they were grateful to me.” Ron does too. Vividly. Hermione slides down into an armchair and they sit in silence for a few moments. She’s fiddling with her shirt, Ron aimlessly shuffles a deck of cards; a remainder of an earlier game of Exploding Snap with his sister. “Are we good?” he then finally asks, unable to phrase it any better. But Hermione gets it, nodding carefully and motioning for him to hand her the cards.

“We’re good.” They both look up to the ceiling, an uneasy silence settling over them. Ron picks up his hand and grimaces.

Harry won’t like this at all.

 

The moment Harry Potter steps into Grimmauld Place 12, Molly Weasley can see the storm brewing in his eyes, so she only gives him a quick but firm hug and lets her youngest son handle it. It’s a bit … cowardly, maybe, but she knows Harry is a teenage boy and needs to let off steam. If he yelled at her, it wouldn’t only hurt Molly herself; she knows Harry wouldn’t forgive himself for it either.

So she strides back into the kitchen with a vague mention of tea and listens for the sound of the explosion. It’s almost impressive – Harry doesn’t only look like his father; now that his voice has stopped breaking, he also sounds like James when he yells. Ron and Hermione’s appeasing babble seems almost feeble in comparison. She rubs her forehead, hit by a disorienting bout of nostalgia.

“That boy,” she sighs at Arthur, who wisely stayed in the kitchen and is munching on a biscuit. Humor tugs at her husband’s expression.

“That boy,” he agrees mildly. “Charlie had a phase like that; do you remember?”

“Of course I remember – two summers in which he and Bill nearly shouted the roof down. I’m not surprised he’s such a hit with the dragons. Like calls to like.” Arthur snorts. They’re both well aware where all their boys get their tempers from. And Ginny – dear Merlin, Ginny. She loves them all, but their children are dangerous. A fact that used to worry her; now she thanks all her ancestors for it – maybe they’ll all make it through the war.

Charlie has long since calmed down, but he never lost the quiet fire. She hopes it’ll be the same for Harry. “Give it an hour or two,” Arthur advises. “You can coddle him later. He needs his friends now. And Sirius.” He gives her a pointed look here and Molly winces. Yes, he needs Sirius – his godfather. Who, yet again last night, reminded her to step back for a moment. She understands, she really does. Harry is all he has and the boy clings to him. They are family – brothers more than father and son or uncle and nephew, but they fit. So yes, she understands, but it also stings a little.

As soon as the noise dies down upstairs, the tension drains out of her. The worst is over. Almost.

“I’m going to talk to Mr. Hatake,” she sighs. “I think it would be best if Harry meets him over food.”

 

Fred would love to know who had the genius idea to introduce Harry to their creepy ninja over dinner. He loves it, of course, and Georgie is a barely contained ball of giddiness beside him. But everyone else looks ready to just flee the room. It’s definitely one of the tenser dinners he’s ever had and that includes the time dad caught Bill sneaking around behind the shed with the neighbor girl and a bottle of Odgen’s. He can’t help but let a smile crawl across his face.

“Charlie and the Odgen’s?” George asks quietly and Fred only grins wider. They’ve sat down right next to Mr. Hatake – Kakashi, as mum now calls him – just to see her frown awkwardly at them past the man’s genial smile. Across the table Harry’s suspicious eyes are fixed on their newcomer, caught between curiosity, distrust and a healthy amount of brewing obsession. The same way he usually looks at Malfoy. This can go one of two ways and Fred loves them both.

Of course they’ll keep an eye on the ‘ninja’ – Harry is basically family, so they’re not going to let him walk right into something he can’t or doesn’t have to handle. But watching him flail around a little, well that’s a different animal. “So, Kakashi,” George starts, pointedly not watching their mothers’ eyes sharpen, “what do you do in your free time?”

“I read a lot,” he says, sounding pleased for some reason. The twins both stare at him.

“That’s good!” Tonks pipes up, waving her fork encouragingly. “Respectable hobby – like Hermione, right?” The girl in question nods vigorously.

“Maybe I can lend you a book sometime. I would also love to read some of your favorites,” she offers in her typically misguided but good-natured way. Kakashi makes an amused noise.

“Certainly. Though maybe later … much later.” And Fred could swear he hears an ‘In a year or ten’ tacked on quietly. His eyes widen, gears whirring in his head. George’s eyes slowly turn towards him, the same ideas whirling around in his head.

“That was practically an invitation,” his brother reasons, after dinner. “Nobody but us heard; and … he knows us by now, doesn’t he? After a week?”

“We’re practically the best of friends. He can’t have expected us to just - …”

“Leave it alone? No way. But we need to be cleverer than the last time.”

George grunts in disgust. “Pepper bombs. How embarrassing. You know who we need?”

“Hermione.” – “Ginny,” they say at once. A moment of silence follows. Then his brother looks at him. “No,” he says very firmly. “No, Fred. Bad idea. Just … no.”

“But why not?” he can’t help but burst out. “We need her brains – we have no idea how he rigged the door and I’ll bet my underpants that she knows more spells to get into someone’s room undetected than both of us and Lee put together.”

“Yes,” George says, eyes wide in exasperation, “but she has also … what do they call them? – Oh yeah, ‘principles’. Hold a wand to Harry’s head and _maybe_ she’ll consider. But as it is, she’ll tell mum quicker than you can say ‘Hold your Hippogriffs’.”

“I think you underestimate her,” he grouches, a little put off that his twin disagrees so vehemently.

“And _I_ think one day that girl is going to eat you alive,” George tells him flatly. “You masochist.” Fred sputters.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

 

Ginny is more than willing to help. He loves their little sister –she looks so sweet, but deep inside she’s more their sibling than all the other four put together.

“We’re all going to die,” she says, sounding mildly enthused. “ _Adinvenio_.”

“That’s the spirit,” Fred says, throwing an extended ear down the stairwell – Kakashi is still in the kitchen.

Ginny’s detection charm isn’t very sophisticated, but certainly better than his. And it seems, the reason why Kakashi got them the last time is a simple one: “I can’t believe he played a muggle prank on us,” George grouches and Fred puts a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t be discouraged, brother mine. It was only a friendly reminder that we need to try harder. This time we’re prepared.” They both look down at Ginny fondly and she flips them the bird.

“Our favorite,” George sighs. “Just don’t tell Ron,” Fred adds. “You know he’s sensitive.”

“All right you two clowns, who of you can aim a levitation charm through the door? And then we’re going to crack the door open by about an inch and throw a cutting curse through to cap the wire.”

“An inch?” he hears his brother ask, sounding a little skeptical. “And that works?”

“I don’t know – you tell me. I just know what you have to do, not if you can actually do it.”

“Well,” Fred pipes up, “I know for one that none of _us_ can cast a levitation charm through a door.”

“No,” George repeats, “We’re not asking Hermione.” Fred is going to kill him.

“Hermione?” Ginny drawls, eyes bright. “No, no – I think it’s a good idea. Let me handle it. We’re getting that door open, even if it kills both of you.”


	6. Chapter 6

Sheesh, I don’t know what’s going on with me:D

The muse doesn’t let me sleep.

* * *

 

While the Weasley siblings – or at least the most troublesome of them – are busy, Kakashi enjoys the peace and quiet it brings. He’s reasonably sure they’ll need at least a week to realize that he hasn’t really rigged the door; the ominous wire is merely glued to the ceiling.

Kakashi turns a page in his beloved book, relishing in his petty victory for a moment. One would think he, as an elite jounin, would be above taunting children, but no – still feels amazing. Across from him Albus Dumbledore eyes him with exasperation. It’s a familiar expression; the Sandaime’s face had been practically stuck that way. “I trust you read our files on his inner circle?” the old wizard prompts, eying the deceptively kitschy cover of Icha Icha Paradise with mild interest. Kakashi sighs.

“Yes. But I have to admit, it’s not the sort of intel I expected.” A lot of it was about blood and family background, which would be useful if they had any sort of Kekkei Genkai – which they don’t – and their crimes. The fact that Bellatrix Lestrange tortured the Longbottom family to insanity does not tell him nearly as much as the headmaster may have thought. After all, physical torture is a practice that even Iwa employed during the war – most of the perpetrators being of very sound mind and merely driven by strong patriotic convictions. After talking to Sirius though, who appears to be her first cousin, it turns out the woman is completely _mad_.

Albus frowns. “Then what sort of intelligence would you have preferred?”

“A psychological profile,” he admits. The look he gets in return is entirely blank. “Mrs. Lestrange – she’s mad, isn’t she? What sort of madness?”

“It’s the Black madness.” This time Kakashi stares at him.

“All right,” he says slowly, “so it’s hereditary. But what does it do? Is she paranoid? Does she experience visual or auditory delusions? It appears she is a sadist – do you know if she liked to torture small animals as a child?” Albus’ expression becomes increasingly pinched. He rubs the bridge of his crooked nose just below his half-moon glasses, eyes becoming a little despairing.

“Is that … of import?”

“Very much so,” Kakashi says, deciding to take a little pity on the old man, “mental illness can look unpredictable, but in fact it completely controls its victim. If I know what sort of delusions she experiences, I can use them to predict her reactions with an accuracy of nearly ninety-two percent.” At this the other man’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

“That closely?”

“It’s the same with everyone else – the more I know about their character, their habits, their little quirks, the easier it is to predict them. I can make you questionnaires, if that would help. Have your people fill them out – those who grew up with them, went to school with them, fought them. The more different perspectives, the better.”

Albus nods slowly. “Very well, I shall tell them. I can already tell you, however, that it won’t be very easy with Voldemort. Few people who fought him survived and I suspect he is … deteriorating in unpredictable ways. As you may know, his name is not even _Voldemort_ – I am still uncertain what young mind grew into this monster.”

“Do we have an age?”

“An approximation, nothing more.” But there’s a glint to the old man’s eyes that suggests secrets. For a moment Kakashi is tempted to call him out on it, but he’ll have enough work to do with the profiles of the inner circle. Let the man stew in it a little; maybe he’ll come out with it on his own. Or maybe it’s time to ask the Potter boy. 

 

“You’re crazy and this is completely unnecessary.”

Hermione is just as unimpressed as George suspected. Ginny tries her best sad-eyes first, but they never quite seem to work on other girls; trying to stare her friend down proves just as futile. “I could ask Harry,” she finally threatens, only half-serious. “I’m sure he’ll be very interested in what’s behind that door.”

“I’m sure,” the older girl agrees. “But Harry cannot aim a spell through a closed door either, so good luck with that.” She’s right of course; it’ll only be four idiots standing in front of the door instead of three.

“Aren’t you curious at all?” she finally bursts out, wrapping her arms around Hermione’s middle and tugging at her beseechingly. “He has books in there he wouldn’t want you to read – we just want to know what they are.”

“I’ve never seen any of you so interested in a few books before. They’re probably dangerous,” is the reasonable answer. “And even I know that I might be good, but not that good. I’ll keep my hands to myself, thank you very much.” Ginny releases her, only to twist her braids around her hands and pull in frustration.

“I can’t believe you! Where’s your sense of adventure? How can you fight off dementors and ride hippogriffs during the school year and then just completely turn off during the summer?” Unexpectedly, Hermione laughs. “Because the summer is for relaxing, haven’t you heard?”

 

Discouraged, Ginny trots back to their room. She can’t give up now; not after promising the twins. They’ll never let her hear the end of it, and Ginny is sure it would mean the loss of all her Weasley honor. Maybe she _should_ go to Harry. He’s not as book smart as Hermione, but he can be unexpectedly crafty. Or could she dare involve Sirius? She’s reasonably certain he’d be up for some mischief, but the question is what would cause the most chaos – actually helping them or letting them run head-first into the next load of pepper bombs? Not for the first time she wishes Bill or Charlie were here, though this time for entirely different, not mum-approved, reasons.

But hey, there’s no way she needs her brothers for this, right? She’s a big girl. An adult, practically. In any case, far too old to go running to her brothers every time something doesn’t work out. No, Ginny has a better idea. Tearing open the bedroom door, she can already hear a commotion in the sitting room a level below, the familiar noise of armchairs scraping and something knocking into the coffee table. Who needs men anyway? – or Hermione, the traitor. And so Ginny cups her hands around her mouth and yells, “Hey Tonks! Are you busy?” 

 

It is, quite possibly, an understatement to say that she’s not happy with the entire situation. And since Minerva McGonagall has never been one to beat around the bush, her words to Albus are, “Albus, I am _really_ not happy with this situation.” He merely sighs at her, procuring yet another small stack of papers from his desk. “How is this supposed to help us?” She thumbs through the new stack; a questionnaire about Lucius Malfoy that, personally, reminds her a little of the ‘Does he really love you?’ tests in Witch Weekly. Not that she reads the silly magazine… anymore.

…Well, she was young once too.

“Keep an open mind please, Minerva,” he urges, not for the first time today. “There is in fact a remarkably accurate branch of muggle medicine on this. I’m inclined to trust Kakashi’s judgment here. And it will cost us nothing but a few hours.”

“How can you trust him,” she bristles, flat out ignoring the last sentence, “if he has done nothing to deserve our trust? He could be a regular muggle, for all we know – leading us around by the nose.”

Albus pauses, directing a very serious look at her. Minerva fidgets, feeling uncomfortably like a student all of a sudden. It’s been a while since he’s been displeased with her; it’s an unwelcome throwback to the earlier years of their relationship.

“Have you really started doubting my judgment that much?” he wonders, sounding defeated and a little hurt. “Do you think I would induct an outsider into the Order without assessing him myself?” The ‘Or do you just not trust me anymore?’ goes unsaid but not unheard. She pales.

“That’s not it, and you know it too. You also know, that we cannot simply trust him on your judgment alone. What do you think would have happened, if you had inducted Severus before the end of the last war? I’m certain without over a decade in between, Sirius would have not taken it lying down.”

“I am certain James would have convinced him.”

This time it’s her who sighs. “I fear you misremember both young Severus and James Potter. They would have tolerated, but with the Mark on Severus’ arm they would have _trusted_ each other, even on your word.” Something wry colors Albus’ face and she watches with grim amusement how he seems to concur. “Can you imagine the disaster if they had been forced to work together?”

Because she can. Even now Sirius rails against every piece of information that Severus can wrest from You-Know-Who. ‘Why would I put my life into the hands of a Death Eater?’

But Albus is right, of course. This costs them nothing but a bit of time. Right now things are reasonably quiet; maybe it will turn out to be an advantage at some point. Carefully Minerva plucks a few sheets out of the stacks for herself. ‘Lucius Malfoy’ one of them says, then ‘Bellatrix Lestrange’ and ‘Peter Pettigrew’. Those are the ones she’s most familiar with. Minerva throws a sad, wistful glance at Peter’s moving photograph. He looks a lot younger on it – by about fourteen years. She’s not looking forward to handing this one to Sirius and Remus.

Despite her own skepticism, the questionnaires are met with general amusement among the rest of the Order. Molly Weasley in particular seems pleased when Minerva asks her to hand a few of them off to Harry, Ron and Hermione.

“They will be happy to help,” she remarks, neatly folding the papers in half, “maybe it’ll make them less restless.” And then she adds a little less optimistically, “And maybe it’ll keep them from looking for trouble.” Even Minerva knows that this is unlikely. But she bites her tongue and hands Arthur ‘Rabastan Lestrange’ and ‘Lucius Malfoy’, the latter of which startles a laugh out of him.

“Oh dear – I’m not certain I can be objective here.”

“No need,” Minerva assures him. “Most questions are objectively phrased and I have been informed that even subjective information would be useful.”

 

For the next few days Grimmauld Place looks like the site of a large scale exam.

“Will you stop looking at my answers?” Hestia Jones hisses when Mundungus leans suspiciously towards her paper. “We don’t even have the same people!”

He looks momentarily surprised. “We don’t?” Remus Lupin wraps a hand around the man’s upper arm and pulls him back onto his seat.

“Come on, Mundungus, you either do it by yourself or not at all.” Hestia snickers at him.

“Thanks, _Professor Lupin_.” A smile tugs at Sirius’ mouth. Filling out Bella’s profile is strangely cathartic. There used to be no bad blood between them – when they were five or six they’d in fact been something like friends. As much ‘friends’ as two Blacks can be, in any case. After years and years of resentment, he feels now strangely wistful assuring Kakashi that, no, she didn’t like to torture small animals until she was at least fourteen. He’s not entirely certain what happened in the intermittent eight years, but knowing uncle Cygnus, and more importantly aunt Druella, he doesn’t want to know either.

It wouldn’t do to hesitate against the bitch, just because they used to play catch when they were little and he couldn’t stop her parents from … not hugging her often enough. Or whatever.

He tries to shake himself out of it and carefully puts ‘no’ behind ‘Have you ever seen her talk to herself?’

“How are things going?” Moony’s voice interrupts his thoughts. “Have you done Wormtail yet?”

Sirius growls. “ _Peter_ is the last on my list. Though I’m not sure how much help either of us will be – can’t have known him that well, can we?” Remus sighs. He flops down on the chair next to Sirius, eyes still fixed on Mundungus. When the man makes another move to peek at Hestia’s paper, he clears his throat rather loudly. The other man jumps.

“Don’t think that way,” he finally addresses Sirius again. “We did know him. We just … stopped knowing him somewhere along the way and didn’t notice.” He winces. “Ok, so that sounded better in my head.”

“Less like we’re the assholes?” Sirius quips. “I sure hope so.” He throws the papers onto the next table with a frustrated noise. “This better be worth it.”

 

Harry taps the paper with his pen. “And this is supposed to work?”

“Well,” Hermione hedges, “it looks like he’s trying to put together psychological profiles. That _would_ be useful.” She winces. “Of course we don’t know how qualified he actually is, so there’s that.”

“I think it’s at least fun,” Ron announces, scrawling a big ‘GIT’ under Lucius Malfoy’s most defining characteristic. Hermione swats him.

“Take this seriously, please! If it really does help, do you want your only contribution to be ‘Lucius Malfoy is a git’?”

“It’ll be true,” Harry reminds her, sketching rat ears around Peter Pettigrew’s head. He does remember watching a TV series or two about profiling criminals – he also remembers being very impressed with it. But now that he’s older, Harry wonders how much of it was actually true and how much was simply artistic license. Or as Uncle Vernon called it even then, ‘complete balderdash’.

For a moment he merely watches his friends, Ron still chewing on his pencil, Hermione jotting down note after note until she runs out of space and has to write on the back of the paper.

“Do you trust that guy?” he finally asks. Neither seem surprised by the sudden question.

“Nope,” Ron says, as if it’s not a big deal. “But Dumbledore does and Mum seems fine with him too. And Sirius, for that matter.” Which is true. Of course his godfather loves everything that spreads chaos and anarchy on principle alone; even Harry knows that Sirius is not the paragon of good judgment that way.

“He seems very … affable,” Hermione adds. “And yes, Professor Dumbledore trusts him.” He must still look somewhat unconvinced because Ron wheedles, “Snape _hates_ his guts.”

Harry snorts. “All right – sold.”

 


End file.
